As I'm Lowered
by Jennifer Chase
Summary: "I'm scared Spock. Help me not to be." A short story from Kirk's point of view on his dying moments with Spock in Star Trek: Into Darkness.


Jennifer Chase

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the dialogue quoted from the movie nor do I own the characters or anything yada yada yada . . . okay? Okay.**

**As I'm Lowered**

"I dare you to do better."

Christopher Pike's words echo through my pulsing head. I'm almost certain I can hear him. I tell myself that's impossible, I'm alone. I feel panic building in my aching chest as my heart beat slows. I feel each pulse beat blood painfully thru my whole body. My dad was alone when he died. Maybe it's better this way. No one is here to witness me admit to my fear of dying. The fear has its firm grasp on my aching heart, making my breathing strained. I reach for the button to close the warp core door and I faintly hear it seal me into this radioactive foyer. _I have to get out of here._

The palm of my hand comes back bruised purple. I feel my skin shudder and cease up, the muscles in my back, arms, and jaw spasm, and my body suddenly feels heavy with fatigue. It feels like millions of pins are being stabbed into my rib cage. Sores in my mouth open and I can taste blood on my swollen tongue. Every breath hurts insidiously. I want to breathe fresh air so badly. _I chose this_; I have to remind myself.

But I can't seem to put aside my fears, even for my family. I give a small laugh which turns into a choke. That bastard was right; there is nothing I wouldn't do for my family. Here I am suffocating for them. They don't need me though. They've got Sulu and Uhura, Chekov and Spock.

Spock.

I have to open this door; I have to get to him. I try to shift my weight, and my whole body aches in protest. I know there's no way this door is opening. I won't allow it. I turn my heavy head and lean it against the cool glass.

And there is the son of a bitch himself, looking at me incredulously. Right on the other side of this damn glass. He crouches so our eyes are equal.

"How's the ship?" I manage.

"Out of danger," says Spock.

My breaths become pants. "Good."

"You saved the crew."

I don't want to be flattered in my final moments. I sacrificed myself for my family; that's it. It involved no strategy, no future planning. I had no idea what to do, but I knew what I could do.

"You used what he wanted against him." never in my years at Star Fleet have I ever seen or heard of such a great idea, of such a great . . . what's it called? My brain becomes instantly confused. Whatever, Spock deserves it all, but I can't piece together words that fit my gratitude.

"That was a nice move."

"It is what you would have done."

"And this . . ." speaking becomes painful, "this is what you would have done. It's only logical."

Breathing suddenly becomes a challenge, and my vision worsens. My body can't take this direct exposure much longer. It hurts so much. I don't want to die, not like this.

"I'm scared Spock," I admit.

For the first time in my short life I see Spock at a loss for words. His eyes are filled with tears, just like mine.

"Help me not to be." I want so badly to be on the other side of this glass.

"How do you choose not to feel?"

He looks down at his feet, then back to my eyes. Not a single tear falls onto his cheeks.

"I do not know."

The panic in my chest bubbles. This Vulcan has always been the one who knows, and right now, right when I need him most, he doesn't know.

There are no hidden messages in our words; we both know this is not a time to be indirect. There's so much I want to tell him. But the numb pull in the back of my brain is cutting my time short.

"Right now I am failing."

I don't believe this.

"I want you to know why I couldn't let you die," I gasp. "Why I went back for you."

I want to tell him why so badly, like I have from the first moment I met him. He is my other half, my soul mate; I have become attached to his Vulcan and human life. But the inside of my body tremors and spasms; making it impossible to speak. It hurts like hell, being poisoned, but my eyes never leave his, and his never leave mine.

I don't need to speak; he finishes my thought for me, "Because you are my friend."

Spock can be such an oblivious ass sometimes. He is so much more than a friend. He is my voice of reason, my clarity from myself. I can't remember my life before him. He is the single most meaningful person in my world, and here he is, sitting beside my limp body, unknowing of the power he has over me. Of the amount of gratitude my heart sings for him. And he will never know, because just then my breathing becomes even more labored.

A tear finally breaks onto his cheek.

I so badly want to be on the other side of this damn glass. This foyer is cold and my fear grows with every weakening breath I manage. Although there is so much left unsaid, I give up on words. I place my hand on the glass, just wanting to touch him. He does the same, meeting my hand on the other side. I pretend I can feel the warmth of his hand through the barrier.

Adjusting my fingers to match his salute takes all the power I have left, but I do it. It gives me contentment, if only for a moment. I know our crew is safe, I know I did the right thing, for once. I almost feel the ends of my swollen lips pull upward.

A sharp pain suddenly hits in my chest, and spreads through my body like wildfire. My shoulders, my hips, my fingertips, everything aches deeply and sharply. Within seconds my breathing stops and my eyesight rapidly leaves.

No, this is too soon. I thought I was ready, I thought I could do this, but I can't, I'm terrified. I'm scared of what lies ahead; I'm scared of not being with the people I love.

The fact that I will never know what happens to them dawns on me. There will be a costumay Star Fleet funereal, the Enterprise will get a new captain, and in a few years I'll just be another faceless red shirt. The thought sucks the life out of me even quicker. Panic drives my eyes toward Spock's. I want his to be the last eyes I see. They comfort me; they're deep and knowing, so much unlike my own. I allow myself to fall into the pain, to take a final breath of toxic air.

I see nothing except his eyes as my hand falls off the glass.

_ I'm tired_. _I'm tired of all this running around and always being in danger, of not being able to protect my family. I just want to see my dad._

"I dare you to do better."

_Have I done better? I don't know. I'd like to think I have. Or just the same, but really, I don't care anymore._

5


End file.
